Dudley, You're a Wizard (Too)
by mrsProbie
Summary: In which Dudley and Harry are both wizards. More a series of related one-shots than a multi-chapter story. Begins in childhood, will run through Hogwarts. (Rating likely to change! Estimated completion: late October!)
1. Poor Mr Tillers

Over the course of the 1986-1987 school year, Dudley Dursley's science teacher, Mr. Robert Tillers, became addled.

Some of the parents assumed that he was having a hard time at home (divorce? Death of a parent? Secretly gay, and his dog found out? The rumors flew). Some of the teachers assumed that he was using drugs. Some of the students assumed that he was a slightly mad man who had always been that way, and weren't all teachers, really?

Even young Dudley wouldn't find out for years what exactly was happening.

The first time Mr. Tillers noticed Dudley doing magic, a few boys were in the middle of a very intense bullying session. Dudley was trying to hold down Christopher Blair while Piers Polkiss took what the bigger boys wanted from Chris's lunch. Unfortunately for Dudley, Chris was a squirmy little bugger, and he kept escaping long enough to smack his lunch out of Piers's hands.

Mr. Tillers was jogging over to reprimand the boys when Chris was inexplicably pulled toward a wide-eyed Dudley. He ran faster, a little confused as to what he'd missed, and then had the fright of his life.

Chris Blair was stuck to the floor. Not with glue, and not with magnets, and not with anything that Robert Tillers was remotely aware of in this world. Chris simply could not be separated from the floor.

Several hours and a few panicked phone calls later, none of them were left with any recollection of the incident. The next day, Mr. Tillers forgot to pick up his classes' homework from the week before.

A few months later, in early December, Dudley was waiting with his cousin - strange boy, Harry, always looked a little peaky, and his aunt and uncle said he was causing a bit of trouble at home - for Petunia to pick them up. The winter air was chilly, and both boys' cheeks were tinted pink. They were standing quite far from the other children, as Petunia seemed to like to pick them up at the very start of the block (she usually sped past the other parents still waiting in line, a pinched expression on her face). Mr. Tillers was ready to go over and make some small talk - maybe get some perspective on Harry's home behavior, he seemed so well behaved at school - when it happened.

Dudley glanced at Harry and muttered something. Harry, eyes wide, replied with something that Dudley didn't seem to like. The larger boy's glance turned into a glare, and he turned to Harry in a threatening stance. Without it even being touched, Harry's scarf began quickly tightening around his neck.

Harry's face was turning rapidly from pink to red, but Mr. Tillers was unable to move. Whether from fear or from _whatever was happening_ , he wasn't sure, but he found himself watching, frozen.

Harry choked out some words that Mr. Tillers could not hear, and as quickly as it had begun tightening, the scarf went slack and then snaked its way gently around Dudley's neck. Mr. Tillers stumbled forward, but before he could ask what the hell had happened, an exasperated, lanky man in a long black coat - perhaps a few years younger than Mr. Tillers himself - seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was facing away from Mr. Tillers, but gestured broadly, probably telling them off or demanding they explain.

Mr. Tillers could _definitely_ use an explanation.

The boys' eyes grew wide, but with the fear that comes from recognition rather than surprise. Harry looked away from the tall, dark man, eyes on the ground, and seemed to whisper something. Dudley immediately hung his head in shame, and this strange, sudden man whipped his head around. His eyes were as dark as his hair and his coat, and for half a moment he tilted his head as if trying to place Mr. Tillers.

Of course, Mr. Tillers wouldn't recall any of this. In fact, the next day, it would take him a few moments to recall exactly which boy was Harry and which boy was Dudley. He had similar issues through the day with naming children, and by the end of his last class had resorted to simply calling them by "you" and other cop-outs.

The children, of course, told their parents, and the parents told his boss they thought he had come into work intoxicated. He weaseled his way out of a formal note on his record by explaining that he had simply stayed up late the night before after watching the second part of the latest _Doctor Who_ arc (and he had - Colin Baker was an utter riot, he really hoped they would keep him around another few years).

He took some time to himself over the winter holiday, spending time with his cat and trying to watch EastEnders reruns (he gave up quite quickly, because honestly, who liked this rubbish?).

The first month of second term went by without much of note happening, although he did catch himself calling students by the wrong name, or forgetting to pick up homework, or trying to go over topics they had in fact covered the term prior.

In February, it all fell to hell. He'd been planning a lovely evening; he just wanted to go home and watch the second episode of Hardwicke House (the pilot had been wonderful, he couldn't wait for more!). All he had to do was get through the last three parent-teacher meetings, and two of them were even combined into one: Dudley Dursley and Harry Potter.

Mr. Tiller understood very little in the way of social cues. Of course, even an entirely socially capable person would have had no way of knowing that saying that Dudley bullied Harry perhaps too often, and also that the boys could manage some utterly _strange_ mischief, almost like magic, would prompt Vernon Dursley to punch him in the face.

He didn't remember the conversation next day, and he didn't have a bruise, but he did wonder why his face was so sore and why he'd missed out on the second episode of Hardwicke House. He'd been very excited, after all… must have slipped his mind. He remembered coming home and having a glass of wine with Mr. Russell, his dear tortoiseshell cat. He must have been feeling particularly nostalgic. Or his mind truly was going, just like everyone was saying…

He did his best to pretend it wasn't happening, but by the end of the year, his ability to run his own classroom was shot. He could hardly remember the names of his students, much less their individual strengths and weaknesses and whether he had assigned homework the week prior.

He resigned, and the town of Little Whinging seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Mr. Tillers had been so _strange_.

Somewhere, miles away, Severus Snape was struck by the idea that he _may_ have gone a little overboard on some of those memory charms.

* * *

 **A/N: Bless Mr. Tillers and his terrible taste in television. Also, I was prompted...**

The Golden Snitch's "Build the Burrow" Challenge: Hammer - Write about a character who has been hit by a memory charm.

HPFC's FRIENDS Competition: TOW Rachel's Sister Babysits - Write about a child showing signs of magic.

HPFC's "Are You Crazy Enough to Do It" Challenge: #379 (restriction - No dialogue but has to be at least 150 words)


	2. Maybe, Maybe Not

_Maybe, Maybe Not_

Having her nephew dumped on her doorstep was not Petunia Dursley's idea of a good joke. When it became clear that it wasn't a joke - that her sister was dead - she was more confused than upset. She had been under the impression that Lily had friends, close friends if freakish ones, and that one of them would have been entrusted with her child. When she wrote the Professor Dumbledore who had signed the letter in the basket (perhaps the same who had signed the fateful letter from her childhood), he'd replied telling her that there was no one else.

And so she and Vernon raised him, and she felt like they were doing an alright job.

No, he didn't have his own room, but he was a toddler, and toddlers didn't really _need_ that much space. Vernon was quite radically against the idea of the dangerous freakishness that the parents had held, and he made it clear that if there was any way to keep the child from displaying it, he wanted to pursue it. He wasn't a bad person, and he didn't _want_ to treat a little boy like less-than; he just wanted his family safe, dammit, and if stomping the magic out of him was what it took, then by god he'd do it.

And that was fine with her, until a chilly January day in 1986. The boys were five and a half, and they were just acting like _boys_ , honestly: Harry would pick up a toy and toss it in the air like the little menace he was, no regard for the things or people around him - every now and then it would float above him for a few seconds too long, and she would flinch - and then Dudley would grab it away from him, and Harry would start to whine, and she'd have to step in and break it up. She saw Dudley leering at the smaller boy's toy and mentally prepared herself to mediate yet again, but this time there was no need.

The next time Harry tossed the toy above his head, Dudley glared at it with fierce concentration, and it slowly levitated away from Harry and into his pudgy little hands.

Petunia felt bile rising in her throat and willed herself not to be sick in front of the boys. She warned them tersely to behave, then strode quickly down the hall and into the first-floor half-bath. She locked the door firmly behind her before allowing herself to let out a heaving sob. It was spinning around her, the mint walls and the lacy hand towels and the sconces with their sickening off-yellow light, it was all spinning. _What am I going to do?_ She couldn't tell Vernon. Maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe it was Harry's doing, somehow. She resolved to put it at the back of her mind.

Her resolve lasted six days, until Dudley had a tantrum and (magically) shattered every glass at the kitchen table. Vernon was still at work, thank god, and Dudley was so frightened himself that he immediately froze, looking like he'd seen a ghost. She took advantage of the shock, sending each boy to his room or cupboard. Maybe it was time to move Harry out of there.

Wouldn't it have been so much easier if Dudley could accidentally clean things instead of breaking them? Her mind wandered to a few occasions when she had maybe assigned Harry too many chores for a child to possible get done in a day, and when she had been surprised to see them all completed by dinnertime. She shuddered.

It was after four in the afternoon, so she didn't feel as bad as she could have pouring herself a tall gin and tonic and downing it while she thought about what to do. After making her choice, she poured a shot of gin into the same pint glass, shooting it back to try to build up her courage. She shuddered again, but this time it was from the heat sliding down her throat and not the chill sliding down her spine.

She poured another gin and tonic, this one smaller and properly garnished with a slice of lime, and found a pad of yellow legal paper and a pen. She wrote the letter quickly, knowing that she needed to finish it before Vernon got home from work. ( _Maybe I should just tell him,_ she thought, and then a third shudder racked her skinny body.)

She shoved it into an envelope and, feeling slightly stupid, addressed it to _Hogwarts, Scotland_. She listened for Dudley's movements upstairs - Harry had been quite quiet under the stairs - and slipped out into the front yard when she was sure that her son wasn't about to come downstairs and notice her gone. She strode through the light snow with what she hoped was nonchalance to the post box at the end of the street and slid it into the little drawer, holding her gaze on it for only a moment before letting the handle go. It clattered shut, and she hoped desperately that it wouldn't get picked up by a regular mailman, that he wouldn't recognize her handwriting, that he wouldn't think her insane and tell _anyone_. Maybe she shouldn't have sent it.

Deciding that whether the letter reached Hogwarts or the hands of the mailman, someone would come around who would be upset to see a little boy living in a cupboard under the stairs, she took the walk home slowly, mulling over how she was going to explain this to Vernon. Once in the house, she called out for both boys to join her in the living room. She told them bluntly that Harry was to take Dudley's second bedroom, and that she didn't want to hear a single word about it.

She told Harry to take his things to Dudley's - to _his_ bedroom. She sat Dudley down on the couch next to her and started to try to placate him.

To her surprise, he didn't seem to need to be placated about the bedroom. He still seemed upset about the incident earlier with the glasses. She tried instead to help ease that: she told him it wasn't his fault, that that sort of thing just _happened_ sometimes, that she wrote to someone for help. None of it seemed to help.

"Am I a freak now?" her little boy asked. His eyes seemed to bore into hers, and her heart seized. "Like Harry?"

"You're not a freak," she said. She forced more words out: "I only said that to Harry because I was afraid, and it was wrong of me."

"But you're not scared anymore?" The confusion was written across his face plain as day, and she didn't know how to lie to him.

"I am," she admitted, "but we can do this together."

Dudley frowned. "You and me and Daddy and Harry?"

She bit her lip. "Let's, er - let's not tell Daddy just yet, hm?"

He nodded, not knowing any better, and he perked up when she offered him ice cream. Thinking that maybe it was time to try harder, she called up the stairs for Harry. His eyes grew to the size of saucers when he saw that she'd set a bowl aside for him. He must have thought she'd gone off the deep end, or that he'd won the lottery.

She watched the boys eat, the unsure way Dudley looked at his own hands. For the second time in her life, she found herself waiting with bated breath for a reply from Hogwarts.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh, I was prompted again -**

The Golden Snitch's "Build the Burrow" Challenge: Screws - Write about Petunia Dursley.

HPFC's FRIENDS Competition: 10 - TOW The Stripper Cries - Use the three prompts in your story: paper / snow / a ghost.

HPFC's "Are You Crazy Enough to Do It" Challenge: #181 (drink - Gin)


End file.
